


Was I Wrong?

by TrashyNyx



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Spoilers, heck i love these two so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyNyx/pseuds/TrashyNyx
Summary: Impromptu family reunions tend to not end well.
Relationships: John Hancock/Nick Valentine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Was I Wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> !! This fanfiction CONTAINS SPOILERS for the quest "In Sheep's Clothing" !!
> 
> I kept the Sole Survivor pronouns open in this so you can insert either male/female/androgynous - I had no reason to make it specific.

He had _no_ idea why Sole had dragged him - _snuck him in_ \- to Diamond City. His nerves were a mess, the anxiety palpable as the duo slowly ascended the lift to the upper stands. With a fluid, practiced motion, he reached into a pocket of his red frock coat and snatched an inhaler of Jet, bringing it to his ruined lips and taking the longest drag of the day so far. John Hancock wasn’t an idiot - he knew where they were going. He popped an unhealthy handful of Mentats in his mouth, the fumes of Jet now mingling with the pleasant grape flavor. He needed to be high as hell for this shit.

Sole didn’t utter a word, just gave an occasional sideways glance to their companion. Even as the lift ground to a halt in front of the Mayor’s office, they were silent. Sole visibly swallowed the lump in their throat and led the way. Hancock paused but eventually followed, polishing off his Jet for good measure, tossing the empty container on the walkway haphazardly. His fingers fidgeted with the hilt of the knife tucked in his waistband. As they approached the doors, he felt an amalgamation of emotions: anger, despair, nervousness, guilt... 

Damn, he _already_ needed another chem break.

He noticed Sole had stopped at the office door, looking back to him expectedly.

“Well?” Hancock asked with an unintentional growl in his voice, “Waiting for my permission?”

Sole said nothing and opened the door. 

Mayor McDonough stood in front of his desk, his assistant, Geneva, helpless at his feet and at the mercy of the pistol held against her temple. Upon Sole’s entrance, his head slowly rose to meet their gaze, a disgusting, shit-eating grin crawling across his face. At first, he didn’t even notice that Hancock was trailing behind, though when he did, McDonough’s attention snapped. His brown eyes narrowed into slits, grin mutating into a wide, evil, tooth-baring snarl.

“Why did you bring… _that_ into my city?! You _know_ the rules…” he forced through grit teeth.

Hancock’s steps were oddly casual, Sole noticed, his hips still carrying that swagger and saunter they always do. When he stepped forward, McDonough’s expression changed yet again, his grip on the pistol loosening ever so slightly. The two looked into each other’s eyes, each set piercing the other, and McDonough had a sudden, horrified flash of recognition as Hancock spoke.

“Nice to see you, too… _brother._ ”

And from there, things happened in fast forward… weird, considering Hancock could’ve sworn he _just_ took an entire dose of Jet.

The pistol whipped from Geneva to Hancock, and just as fast, the ghoul flipped his knife into his hand. Sole stood in shock, either from how this escalated or the new information of the men’s relation, though they were able to snap out of their stupor and run to Geneva’s aid. Mayor McDonough’s animalistic taunts and yells reverberated through the office, the windows rattling with his bellows, as he took heavy, angry stomps over to end up face-to-face with Hancock.

“You are a traitor, John! _You left!_ ” he yelled, angry spittle flying from the corners of his mouth, “ _You fucking left_ , and now you stand here, _a ghoul_? In _my_ city?! How fucking _dare_ you?!”

Hancock said nothing. Not even as McDonough gave him a couple violent smacks of the butt of the pistol across his face. When he finally decided to talk, a primal and damn-near feral growl rumbled from his chest; McDonough’s flinch only fed Hancock’s rage.

“How dare _I_ …?” Hancock’s voice was dark, the complete opposite of his typical easy-going tone, “ _You_ sent people to _die_ \- _not me_!” That earned him another hard _wack_ , causing blood to seep from a corner of his mouth. Of course, that didn’t stop John Hancock.

“ _You_ stood there and watched as families were torn apart. _You_ threw them out when they had _nowhere else_ to fucking go. _You_ sent people out to the ruins to _die_. _You_ started a selfish, bigoted crusade for your own personal fucking agenda. _How. Fucking. Dare_. _You._ ”

Another, significantly harder, pistol-whip to his jaw sent Hancock to the ground in a daze. As he propped himself on his elbows, spitting some blood on the office floor, McDonough leapt on top of him, his weight knocking the wind out of the smaller ghoul. With a snarl, he clasped a hand tight around Hancock’s throat, placing a finger on the gun’s trigger with the other, jamming the barrel roughly against his brother’s chest. McDonough’s breaths were heaving, filled with an unbridled anger, and his fingers violently flexed into Hancock’s throat, scarred hands feebly clambering to have them let go.

“And I would do it all again. _Your kind_ will not ruin what is finally _mine._..”

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the office.

Hancock saw the life flee McDonough’s eyes, felt the weight lifted off his chest as the still body collapsed onto the tiled floor. It was a clean shot through the base of the skull. Hancock slowly stood, and he found his knees weak, his chest rattling slightly as he worked to regain air. His expression was void of emotion; if anything, it was unnaturally dark. He glanced over at Sole, who held a literal smoking gun in their hand, other arm protectively around Geneva, now a bawling mess against their chest. The tyrant mayor of Diamond City was dead at Hancock’s feet, something he had relished in the thought of ever since the election. He looked back down at the body, adjusted his tricorn slightly with a scoff. Prick got what was coming to him.

Sole approached and bent over McDonough’s body to do their usual poking, prodding, and looting. They suddenly stopped, though, letting out a sharp, surprised gasp.

John Hancock wasn’t known to become frazzled or speechless. And yet what he saw in that next moment made his eyes widen, panic visible even in the seas of onyx. Violent shivers racked his body, his heart feeling as though it swan-dived into the bottomless pit that was now his gut, a wave of nausea crashing into him. The knife fell from his hand, a sharp clang piercing the silence as it landed on the tile. His breathing seemed to stop, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get it back.

Sole held a synth component in their hand, coated in fresh blood and bits of flesh. Plucked straight from McDonough’s head. 

He needed to leave… _Fucking hell,_ _he needed to leave_.

Hancock gave no warning before turning and bolting out of the door. He ignored the gawking stares, terrified screams, angry slurs, and the various objects pelting him as he ran somewhere he knew was safe… The only place he felt he _could_ go.

The pink neon sign of the Valentine Detective Agency seemed so far away.

\---

The day had been fairly routine, teetering on boring, for Nick Valentine and his secretary Ellie Perkins. It was the standard shuffling of paperwork, sorting case files and archiving solved ones. Menial, dull tasks, at least until something new came through the office. Nick momentarily stopped to rub the bridge of his nose with a sigh, lighting yet another cigarette. He was almost through a pack already… bummer.

“You’re lucky you can’t develop an ugly smoker cough, given how many of those you’ve had lately,” Nick heard Ellie jest with a chuckle as she heaved a stack of files into the cabinet drawer. He couldn’t help but laugh himself.

“Yeah, well, lucky me, I suppose.” He paused, taking a long drag and flipping some papers around on the desk, hunting for one in particular. “Hey, have you seen that--”

Nick was interrupted by the loud crash of his door being busted into and then promptly slammed shut, the sudden jarring noise making Ellie jump straight into the cabinet with a yelp. As his eyes darted to the door, Nick was truly taken aback - so much so, his cigarette fell from his mouth. 

There stood John Hancock, which was surprising enough on its own, but the _state_ he was in only added to Nick’s concern and astonishment. Hancock was gasping for air as if he just ran a marathon, his face bruised and mouth bloodied, nails digging into the door as if his life depended on it. The faint color he still had seemed entirely drained, and his body was shaking, making his teeth chatter. And then, Nick noticed Hancock’s eyes. Normally, they radiated smugness and confidence to an agitating degree, but now, they were uncharacteristically panicked, tears starting to brim at their edges. 

Nick slowly got up from his chair. His glowing, yellow eyes never left Hancock’s obsidian ones. “John… I need you to _breathe_ , John.” He was relieved when the ghoul actively tried to obey. Nick gently coaxed Hancock to sit at the desk, politely asking Ellie to grab some drinks - bourbon and rum, respectively - and offering Hancock a cigarette, which he took with a weak ‘thanks,’ promptly lighting it.

When he had the rum in hand, Hancock humorlessly chuckled. “... You remembered.” 

“Of course I did,” Nick said softly, his lips turning up slightly, “It’s your poison of choice, liquid wise.” The distinction made Hancock snort, though there was no actual amusement in it.

After hastily sipping down their drinks in silence and polishing off their smokes, Nick finally spoke up. “So, mind telling me what in the fresh hell is going on?” As he asked, Nick brushed a thumb across Hancock’s lip, a slight grimace forming on his face as it came back sticky and red.

Hancock paused at the question, and when he spoke, his voice was unnaturally deflated, making Nick’s heart ache like mad. “He… He was a synth, Nick. My brother… this whole time...” 

Nick was met with grieving, wet, onyx eyes that appeared so… lost, defeated. It was such a one-eighty from the usual sureness of the mayor of rough-and-tumble Goodneighbor. Ellie even apparently noticed, as from his peripheral, he could see her wiping her eyes. Hancock tilted his head down, taking to staring into the now empty glass.

“I just… _fuck_. Was I angry at him… for the wrong reasons? _No_ reason at all? He… he fucking _recognized_ me, Nick,” Hancock continued, his words slow, voice raspier than usual, “And he had _that_ _same fucking grin_ on his face…”

As he trailed off, Nick could see the plop of tears into Hancock’s glass from under the shadow of the tricorn hat, and his chest tightened when he heard choked sobs. Nick instinctively pulled his chair around and beside Hancock, his metal arm gently wrapping around the ghoul’s shoulders and bringing him in close. Nick knew if he was capable, he would no doubt be crying along with him.

Hancock was able to compose himself enough to speak again after a few moments. “Y’know… at first, I was fucking _happy_. Thought it was about time he finally got what was coming to him… but… _fuck_ …” Hancock took a struggled breath, “ _Fuck_ , it isn’t fair… not even _he_ deserved that… to be turned into… that...”

Nick pulled Hancock closer still. “He was your brother, John… Despite his flaws, you love him. He’s family. He made… questionable choices, but you two are blood.”

“I condemned him and his entire city… but… fuck, some stupid part of me wanted to believe he still had some good in ‘im…” Hancock’s cheeks were now damp, and he screwed his eyes shut to try to stop his tears to no avail, “He… _he’s gone_ … has been for who knows how long… _fuck._..”

Ellie turned to Nick, a sympathetic desperation on her face. He shared the same sentiment; there was absolutely _nothing_ either of them could possibly say to alleviate the pure grief Hancock was experiencing. Nick found himself struggling to find words for the first time in quite awhile. Instead, he opted for perhaps a bold move. After giving Ellie a silent nod she somehow understood, he gently scooped up the ghoul and carried him bridal-style up the stairs. Hancock surprisingly said nothing, choosing to curl against Nick and staying that way until both laid in bed.

Nick shifted to lay on his side, his synthetic hand tenderly wiping rough, damp cheeks, and his chest fluttered as Hancock leaned into his hand and wrapped his arms around Nick’s torso. Nick’s heart wrenched when the man in his arms completely broke, melting instantly. Hancock’s sobs transformed into hoarse, hiccuped wails, muted by Nick’s overcoat as he buried his face into it. All Nick could think to do was hug Hancock tight, hold him as close as possible. “There, there, John, I’ve got you. You are safe here, just let it all go, doll.”

The two found solace in simply laid there, Hancock unraveling at the seams in Nick’s protective embrace. Nick lightly rubbed his back, whispering soft reassurances. When Hancock spoke again, his voice was significantly weakened by unfiltered mourning.

“Nicky…” Nick noticed his breath hitch at the use of that endearment again after so many years - Hancock was the only one to use it and get away with it. And it was something the synth had surprisingly missed. “You’re all I have in this fucking world anymore… so don’t go disappearing on me...”

“John, you know damn well I ain’t going anywhere. Whether you want me to or not.”

Suddenly, Nick was face-to-face with Hancock; they were merely centimeters apart. He could see the both old and fresh streams of tears down Hancock’s face, the few dark bruises standing out against his lighter tone. And of course, he found himself lost in those abyssal eyes, as always. So lost, in fact, that Nick didn’t even realize he had closed the distance between them, his pseudo flesh lips grazing scarred ones. Hancock laid there silent, letting his softened eyes do the talking, his hold tightening. 

Hancock was the one to take initiative, slowly and gingerly pressing his lips against Nick’s. It wasn’t hungry and lustful like usual, but rather romantic and passionate. The faint taste of Mentats and Jet was oddly comforting, and combined with the pure intimacy of it, it was intoxicating. Nick could feel the wetness of tears rub onto his own face, and it just made him deepen the kiss even more. Nick wanted to help his John forget about it all, a chance to escape the demons plaguing him. He felt the ghoul’s lips quiver against his own, could hear the muffled whimpers as their tongues danced, and with a hand on each side of Hancock’s face, Nick gently pulled him even closer. Only when his cries became too much did Hancock break away, his soft, gravelly sobs and whimpers shooting Nick right through his heart.

“Fuck… Nicky, I’m sorry…”

“Hush, John… it’s okay,” Nick said softly, resting his forehead against Hancock’s, “You take all the time you need. There are no expectations of you, and I’m not going anywhere, doll.”

With a tired nod, Hancock kissed Nick again, that same tenderness present as earlier. Nick immediately returned it with an equal gentleness. The vague sounds of the radio coming from down the stairs seemed to accentuate the moment. Nick could feel Hancock’s fingers flex into his waist assertively, as if afraid he’d try to walk away. Neither knew how long they laid there, and honestly, neither wanted it to end. Nick took to brushing Hancock’s cheeks as he held them, wiping away the tears as the ghoul silently cried. It was a strange, vulnerable moment; John Hancock _never_ cried (at least, to his constituents’ knowledge), and yet here he was, showing the most emotion Nick had ever seen from the man in a long time. His thoughts were broken as the kiss was, Hancock pulling back, those pitch black and watery eyes looking into Nick’s with an unspoken yearning and unbridled love. 

“How did… I get so lucky to have you in my mess of a life, Nicky?”

“I ask myself that every day, John. What is it you say… ‘you are my Sunshine’ or something corny like that?”

For the first time that day, Hancock cracked a small smile and legitimately laughed. Nick couldn’t help but reciprocate with chortles of his own.

Hancock took to nestling into the crook of Nick’s neck, a shaky sigh tickling his polymer skin. Nick started to soothingly caress up and down Hancock’s back with his metal digits, and at the sound of content, soft moans, it seemed to be working as intended. They were silent for several moments, and Nick was certain the ghoul was asleep until he heard a raspy mumble.

“I love you, Nicky… my Sunshine.”

“I love you, too, Johnny.” The corners of Nick’s lips perked up as he let the endearment slip, higher still when he heard Hancock’s bashful laughs.

It didn’t take too long before Nick heard Hancock’s light snoring, his grip still tight and firm around Nick’s waist. He couldn’t help but lightheartedly chuckle, and he continued the same motions up and down the ghoul’s back. The melodies from the radio and the soothingly slow snores from Hancock made Nick content, _happy_ … grateful for the man in his arms. He took the liberty to remove the tricorn hat and hung it from a bedpost, leaving a loving kiss on top of Hancock’s head and nuzzling close.

“Sleep well, doll… I’ll be right here when you wake. I’ll _always_ be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm unsure how synths recognizing people works, buuut I hope it was a good read nonetheless!  
> Also ghouls can cry in my world and Nick likes alcohol too much to not drink, even if he doesn't need to.
> 
> All that aside, I hope you enjoyed!  
> I am absolutely IN LOVE with these two both as characters and a couple, so heck, there will be more Valencock from me just saying...
> 
> Thank you everyone for the support! ♥


End file.
